


Shattered REDUX

by fromxthexashes



Series: Shattered [2]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence - Post X-Men: First Class (2011), Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Post X-Men: First Class, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014), X-Men: Days of Future Past Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2020-04-23 09:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19148386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromxthexashes/pseuds/fromxthexashes
Summary: *** This work is NOT a part of the From the Ashes series I have created and takes place in a different universe! ***Jean Grey was a part of the first wave of students Charles had enrolled in his school after what happened in Cuba. Despite the rest of the student body leaving after the war began in Vietnam, she had nowhere else to go and remained at the mansion. Between working and going to night school, Jean's already exhausting day grows worse when she finds a stranger in the place she calls home. With claims of a fanatical future, Jean will endeavor to change it with a broken mentor, an insecure friend, and an infatuated stranger.*** This work is also a reboot of Shattered, another work that was started when I was discovering myself as a writer. I still wanted to explore the universe created in it, so I have made a new rendition. ***





	1. Prologue

Jean Elaine Grey would have doubted anyone nine years ago if they had told her that she would have the power to hear people’s thoughts and move objects with her mind. Jean would have doubted anyone eight years ago if they told her that she was going to watch her childhood best friend, Annie, die right in front of her. She would have doubted anyone seven years ago if they told her she had been in a coma since that death. She would have doubted anyone six years ago if they told her that her parents would have her committed due to the _illness_ she had developed since being awake from her coma. She would have doubted anyone five years ago if they told her that someone would save her from the hospital like she would dream and pray for nightly after another round of electroshock therapy. She would have doubted anyone four years ago if they told her that her savior and mentor would utterly shatter upon the draft being initiated in the war. She would have doubted anyone three years ago if they told her that her only other companion in the mansion would have created a substance her mentor would use as a drug. She would have doubted anyone two years ago if they told her that she was going to manage both graduating and finding a college to go to at night. She would have doubted anyone a year ago if they told her that her mentor was only going to keep falling into the pit of despair he had created himself. Today, she would have doubted anyone that told her that when she returned home from her waitressing job, that everything was going to turn around. 

 

 

In his misery, Charles had unwittingly dragged both her and Hank into a vicious cycle of commiseration and frustration in regards to the man they used to hold up so highly. She would be a liar if she said it had not affected her, and the truth was, it had shaped her into a colder woman. When she went to school at night she kept to herself and to her studies. When she was at work, a part time waitressing gig, she would use her powers to discern what her customers wanted before they ever voiced it. She put on a facade, a mask meant for customer service plastered with a smile. At home, it would be a constant rollercoaster of being unable to stop herself from feeding off others’ feelings.

 

 

Her only escape was to venture as far away as possible from Charles and Hank. Her sanctuary was a library on the topmost level of the mansion. Hank would frequent the subbasement and the first level, Charles the first and second. This third floor had quietly become hers, and she had spent time to transport her favorite books up there. When she was in her haven, she was surrounded by books of poetry and short stories all revolving around nature. Henry David Thoreau, although dead, was virtually her best friend. The beauty found in the rawness, in reality, it gave her a small hope she might one day have someone find her so beautiful as well.

 

 

She was making the familiar strides to the front door, having elected to walk to and from work that day, when it all hit her. She stumbled, her knee scraping against the gravel as emotion after emotion hit. A hand flew to her head, cradling the side as she tried to will it away. The awful ache of a migraine settling into her system was bad enough, but the emotions stemmed from a source she knew and one she did not. Hank was easy to sort out as it all screamed _intruder, intruder, intruder_. Feet hit the gravel quickly, long movements of lean legs as they pumped to get her through the threshold and into home.

 

 

Her purse and bookbag was left abandoned by the door, legs still pumping as she arrived onto the scene. A fight was taking place between a stranger and Hank, in his true form. Confusion didn't seem to cease as it came off in waves from the man, adding to Jean's. Another short sprint left her between the two men, panting as her hand outstretched in front of her, her mind focused on Hank and getting him away from the man. She needed to break up the fight, stop the confusion, stop the flood. “Stop it,” a quiet plea at first, but her volume grew, “Stop it!”

 

 

Hank's body moved, his back hitting the stairs with a thud. The chandelier she sometimes would stare at while not paying attention to her housemates’ bickering began to rain glass. A beautiful thing lost as a casualty against her powers, powers that were still as wild and untamed even with the practice she put herself through. She had gone somewhere around four years without a guide, lost to the maze of her mind. The key to unlocking control was still lost in the enigma. Her attempts were merely claw marks against hardwood floors as she was taken away by her own fears.

 

 

Panting. She was still panting, she realized as she stood between the men. Her fiery hair had found ways to pry itself loose from the bun she wore, strands now in her face as her attention juxtaposed between the two. Her voice was steady now, calm. It was a tone she remembered easily, a tone she used well, one that was now normally reserved for Charles. Mothering, nurturing, babying. He was just like a child now, one she and Hank had to care for. 

 

 

“Stop it and talk it out, right now.”

 

 

Hank was the first to move in her sight, but she could feel a previous ball of self-pity shifted into curiosity and worry. It was more of the former. Hank rose from the stairs, wiping glass off of his body as an unsightly robe entered her peripherals. The robe meant it was not a good day, but there never were good days anymore. It meant he had not changed, had not showered, had not cared. A small pinch of disgust added itself to the cacophony of feelings inside of her. “Jean,” a lilt that used to soothe her now began heating her blood, “Hank, who is that? What happened? What happened to my chandelier?”

 

 

“A guest.”

 

 

“An intruder.”

 

 

“A friend.”

 

 

Jean, Hank, and the stranger all sounded off as one. She dared a small glance over her shoulder at the unknown man. She couldn't pinpoint what it was about him, the clothes, the body, the posture, the attitude, or the words, but it all screamed **_trouble_** to her. Not trouble in the eyes of the law, no, trouble as she wanted him. She was drawn in like a moth to a flame until that lilt tore her attention away. 

 

 

“A friend,” Charles questioned incredulously, “I don't have those.”

 

 

She didn't need powers to understand how his words put a knife into a heart. It was clear on Hank's expression. It was felt in her own heart, no matter how cold it seemed these days. It spoke of the disarray and dysfunction of their relationships. To him, Hank was probably no more than a live-in dealer and she was undoubtedly the maid. The sharp words had no effect on the stranger, and his cheshire grin spelt mischief or advantageous knowledge. Still, he lured her unwittingly to him, he radiated comfort and familiarity, although she knew this was their first encounter. He spoke clearly, uninterrupted this time, “I was sent here by you.”

 

 

“By me?” Escalation after escalation, wave upon stronger wave of emotion. All coming from Charles as his already tumultuous temperament frenzied into overdrive. He wasn't aiming for her, but Jean might as well have been the only target. She was the one to feel each shift of his liquid disposition which shifted whenever any molecule seemed unfit or reminded him of his loss. 

 

 

“Yeah, about fifty years from now.”

 

 

His words had her curiosity piqued, but the spark sizzled out immediately upon the nudging gaze in Charles’ blue eyes. She was not only a maid, but a personal lie detector. She was meant to do so on command, to discern the intention of visitors and turn them away should they have a wish different from him. They always did. There was no escaping his unnerving stare unless she did as he bid. Obedience was easy. It was a small moment out of her own head and into the stranger's. Her eyelids closed, a deep breath in, then out as she centered herself. It was nothing more than a nudge against his mind, a prod to see if there was more to his words by omission or simple betrayal. 

 

 

Her eyes opened to the stranger's. She decided upon his eyes, blue but not innocent nor naive nor wallowing in sorrow. There was a wisdom in them, experiences beyond her years, and the smallest hint of a smile that she hoped was just for her. Those blue eyes were trouble indeed, but he had given her a spark of life and it was taking form, giving way to a fire in her blood that warmed her and excited her for the future. The future was no longer an ideal to escape to, to slave over everyday and provided her hope during the monotony. Now it served as a mystery she wanted to dissect just to find where he fit into it, and find herself a spot next to him.

 

 

“He's telling the truth.”


	2. Chapter 2

"You've overextended yourself Jean," doubt and exasperation laced into every word from Charles' lips, "There's no way."

 

Confusion from both Charles and Hank swept over her, washing upon her like waves lapping at the shore. He had been telling the truth. She knew it, with no doubt, even if she didn't understand the how or why. To have Charles question her after seeking out her services, a light way of describing his use of her as her own personal pawn, felt like a heated knife slicing through the wall of ice around her heart just to pierce it to bleed.

 

Frustration, mirroring her own and reinforcing it, was found next in the fold of emotions wafting around her and entering her veins. Its owner, the stranger claimed friend, was tense. His jaw set and it drew her in to study his features. Signs of aging graced his countenance as he spoke again, "I'm telling the truth. Why don't  _ you  _ read my mind?"

 

Hank, finding his way out of his own confusion, answered for Charles. They both knew why. It only brought more pain to Charles, and more pain for him meant he would take it out on them. Then, in turn, they would take it out on each other, lashing out with every emotional weapon they had in a vicious cycle that never seemed to cease. "He can't. The serum for his legs affects his powers."

 

"I know you, Charles. We've been friends for years. I know your powers came when you were nine. I know you thought you were going crazy when it started; all the voices in your head. And it wasn't until you were twelve that you realized the voices were in everyone else's head. Do you want me to go on?"

 

The room remained silent for a pregnant moment. Tension built in the air as Hank and Jean exchanged a quick glance at each other. Neither of them had known this. Any talk of mind reading was effectively banned in front of Charles. 

 

"I never told anyone that." 

 

A glimpse of the real Charles shone through for the first time in years. The light he used to bring to her, to guide her through the shadow riddled maze of her own mind, appeared and she found herself basking in that long forgotten warmth for only a moment. The light would not last, extinguished by his own doing, and some of her hope went with it.

 

"Not yet," the stranger countered, "but you will."

 

"All right, you've piqued my interest. What do you want?"

 

"We have to stop Raven. I need your help. We need your help."

 

The name Raven was a catalyst for an explosion of new emotions, stronger than the ones before and assaulting her from both Hank and Charles. She was drowning in the sorrow, the anger, the guilt, but most of all the grief. When her knees hit the floor she realized her legs had given out. Fingers were at temples, filtering and condensing the emotions were a fruitless endeavor that she attempted nonetheless. A sense of surprise and concern came from all three and she tried to focus on it. The comfort of those emotions could possibly get her through this, but their emotions were the cause of it all. Anger briefly flashed through her and warmed her veins. All she could think was  _ stop it, stop it, stop it _ . Unbeknownst to her, these thoughts were being broadcasted to them all in her struggles.

 

"I'd like to wake up now." Charles and his robe retreated. Fabric trailed up the stairs and she knew what it was and what it meant. He was recoiling into his haven, an attempt to run from Jean's lack of control and want of a mentor to aid her. He was running from the stranger and he was running from her. It was what he did best.

 

"What does she have to do with this?" 

 

Hank wanted to know more. Even though his voice was a whisper, she could hear it clearly in her mind as heartbreak laced his words and permeated her. His concern faded away, as did Charles' upon his retreat. Only the stranger's remained and it gave her enough clarity to scramble for purchase on the stairs. She lifted herself up with great effort and slinked away to her own sanctuary, her library. There she could be alone and away from them all. There she could be at peace.

 

Or so she thought. The stranger found her there too, but at least his emotions had been more comforting than her other housemates. This also changed, just as the air did as he entered into her sanctuary and tainted it with the melancholy washing over her. Heartbreak, something she thought had been coming from just Hank in the chaos, also wafted from him. Intruder was a fitting label for him again as she marked her page and set down her book.

 

Green eyes met blue. Trees reaching for the sky, searching for them and the light they brought from the sun. The smile playing upon his lips gave her some strength to sit just a little straighter. A surge of confidence was happily welcomed as she tried to silently challenge his presence.

 

"Jean," her name that she had not given weighed heavily on his tongue as his mind reached for hers only to cause her to recoil, "You have no idea how good it is to see you."

 

"Just who are you?"

 

Hurt by the distance she was so desperately trying to create, he stilled his mind, "My name is Logan. We're very good friends in the future."

 

"I get the feeling we're more. How did you know where I was? This is a big place."

 

"You always go here when your powers are troubling you." There was that Cheshire grin again, something that made her even more drawn in. She was fighting against herself, curiosity versus her fatigue. Exhaustion had already settled into her bones from the day, but that damned curiosity had renewed her energy for the time being. 

 

Like Charles before her, her interest was piqued and she leaned forward in her own chair, "Just how good of friends are we?"

 

She must have been right where he wanted her because he was quick to close the distance he had given when she hadn't reacted in kind to his appearance. He was no telepath, that much she could tell, but there was something there that let him read into her further. Perhaps he was a man of details, or perhaps his mutation gave him an advantage. That, or the more disconcerting answer was that he could read her because he knew her that well.

 

He was dangerously close to her now. His breath danced across her features, and if she moved forward any further their lips would touch. She should feel like he was in her space, she should push him away, and she shouldn't feel like closing that distance. She was curious if his lips would be soft to contrast the impression he gave her. He seemed like a man of passion in the least. The temptation to feed upon that with the spark of a kiss was hard enough to fight on it's own let alone once she met his eyes again. 

 

That predatory peer almost sealed her fate until he broke the silence, "Why don't you find out?"

 

Calloused fingers encompassed hers, bringing her hands to rest on either side of his head. She was now effectively cupping his cheeks and her own cheeks burned for a moment. This was the closest she had been to anything remotely resembling dating. As his touch lingered longer than necessary it sent shockwaves across the back of her hands and up her arms. 

 

Even if diving into his head would drain her, she needed to know more. She needed to know more about him, about why he was here, but most pertinently, about  _ them _ . She needed to know just what they were to each other for him to affect her so, and for her in turn to affect him. She wasn't unaware of the lingering melancholy, a surge of grief added once her hands made contact to his head. 

 

His mind yielded to her easily, her mental presence known and familiar to him. The question that had been brought with it was quelled quickly, along with her questions from before. Yet, she regretted having the answers as she was left with her own grief as she gazed back into Logan's eyes once she retreated from his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:
> 
>  
> 
> I'm so very sorry for everyone who was looking forward to regular updates. I often have fleeting muse. I don't necessarily like uploading things before they're finished, but I chose to for This Life is Overwhelming and I'm Ready for the Next One as I had more than half of it done. I have an outline for Promnesia, but not one for Shattered nor Shattered REDUX. Since this work is a redux I lucked out in being able to look at the original work to update and change it. However, that work was just barely started and so material will be gone soon.
> 
>  
> 
> If I could bear to actually continue very slowly analyzing DOFP then I may be able to work on Promnesia and Shattered REDUX. I wish I didn't have to work during these troubling times, but my job is a part of the supply chain to get necessary products to people. If something changes and I do get to remain home, I may end up working on it. I think I may still be open to one shot prompts to help ease into writing again.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for all of your incredible support and feedback. I hope these times find you safe and healthy, and continue to do so.


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